


Precious

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7063090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urgency can be both a motivator and a stressor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious

"Okay, that’s done! Let’s see what I can do about this…” You mutter to yourself as you shuffle through the intimidating stack of bills.

Water, electric and internet. Not to mention the credit card and student loan payments that will be due soon. You quickly calculate the cumulative total of everything and sigh. Three hundred is all that’s left after everything. Another month just skating by with no ending in sight. You open your emails to see if any employers sent word about hiring you after your countless interviews -over the phone and in person- and still nothing. The weeks keep passing but no one is willing to hire a college graduate with no work experience. And since no one is willing to take the risk you can’t get any experience. A constant loop of rejection.  

Frustrated you switch on your tv to the news and search your kitchen to make a list of absolutely necessary groceries. Every time you look though it always seems like you need everything but with only three hundred, in your city, you’re lucky if you can get half your groceries along with toiletries and laundry supplies. Once all that’s handled you always beg to no one in particular that no emergencies will come up.

Just the thought of another month of scrounging, cutting coupons and having customers stare at you in contempt as you hand a stack of them to the cashier fills your with even more dread. But you have no choice. If you want to have everything you need this is how it has to be. If you don’t, well, you’ll never have enough of anything.

A sharp pain pierces through your knee for the second time today. You lose balance and with the tips of your fingers are able to find stability in the kitchen counter. With painstaking steps you hobble back to the secondhand sofa and elevate your leg. The pain radiates throughout your leg. These instances are increasing in frequency and intensity but you refuse to go to a doctor. Castiel’s benefits haven’t kicked in yet and without insurance they’ll charge you an arm and a leg for just letting you sit in their waiting room.

Finally you pay attention to the news and you feel all the blood nearly drain out of you.

The alarm system dings as the door leading to the garage opens and a mentally and physically exhausted Castiel walks through the door. His tie is loose and crooked exposing the unbuttoned collar of his crisp white dress shirt. Castiel’s beard is beginning to peek out of his skin. The contrast of his stubble and his greyish skin make him look even more sickly. The nights of poor sleep and hectic days at work are taking their toll on your husband.

“Hi sweetie.” Castiel gives you a quick kiss on your forehead, his chapped lips and stubble tickling your skin. “How is the job hunting going?” Oblivious to your anxious silence as your wring your fingers.

Before you can answer the storm sirens ring out. Everything seems to go twice as slow and yet three times too fast for you to register. Hustling as best you can, cursing God and anyone who would listen to your prayers for ignoring you. Castiel stuffs his arms full with canned foods. You grab your laptop and purse. Every valuable and necessity that can be quickly grabbed are packed into the bathroom.

Huffing and trembling inside you grasp onto your dog, Maxson the shar-pei, and you search your phone for weather updates. The satelitte tv completely useless now that the onslaught of heavy rain and baseball sized hail beats against your twenty-year old house. You can’t tell if it is Maxson that is making you physically tremble or if it is the house.

Twenty minutes pass by and the sirens stop. Not long after so does the rain. Castiel leaves the humid bathroom to check to see how bad the damage is but you can’t move. Despite the fact that everything has calmed down you can’t feel it. It’s as if the storm is trapped inside of you without any escape or end.

You lay on the bathroom floor and cover your eyes with your hands. The darkness shifts and dances behind your eyelids. You hear Castiel’s dress shoes clack against the tile floor as he approaches you.

“Y/N, honey, everything seems to be fine. No cracked windows or toppled trees. Can’t say the same for the neighbor but..we’re good.” His tone is bright, without concern, and maybe that’s what triggered your tears or maybe it was him saying “we’re good” because you don’t feel even the slightest bit okay.

Tears cascade down your cheeks in abundance, some going down your chin to your neck but the rest travel to your ears. The harder you try to fight them away the faster the come until you feel as if your cheeks have turned from flesh to water. Castiel awkwardly massages your legs not sure if you’re comfortable being touched or if you need time. He stiffens as you shoot up into his warm body, burying your drenched face into his chest, focusing on his heartbeat to ease the sobbing.

Castiel patiently pats your back, pulling you in as close as comfortably possible, waiting until you speak. The last thing he wants to do is rush you when you clearly need some time.

“I’m sorry..I’m just being stupid.” You try to pull away but Castiel keeps you clasped against his chest.

“Don’t ever say that again. Crying is never stupid. I mean I want to cry every time I’m stuck in traffic on the way home. Sometimes I do.” Castiel authoritative and even tone pours over you, momentarily easing your tears. Despite Castiel’s always hectic schedule at work he never showed any signs of stress or sadness. You can’t even imagine him crying in the middle of traffic.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because, by the time I get home, I don’t worry about any of it anymore. It’s another day’s problem. I just want to enjoy the time we spend, on the couch, watching you shout and laugh at the tv.” Castiel rests his head on top of yours and finally asks the question you knew he was dying to have answered, “Why?”

“I guess I just…I don’t know. The weather kind of just sparked something.” You didn’t know what else to say. To be honest, this has always been your process. Stress, bottle it up, forget/don’t notice it, finally blow when the most trivial obstacle jumps out in front of you.

You remember the teacher phone calls asking your parents to come pick you up at a school after a breakdown. After a while your parents took you to see a doctor. You used to call him Mr. Mind because you couldn’t really pronounce, or spell, what he specialized in. It stuck. To this day you remember your first session. The compact office had a relatively worn out sofa and a coffee table with a box of tissue readily available. After hearing your pattern from your parents he came to the conclusion that writing a journal might help both him and you understand what was truly going on.

Two months of writing later Mr. Mind came to the conclusion that you were exhibiting the early signs of a possible anxiety disorder. It explained your near constant state of borderlining obsessive analysation and combined with the thought that your problems were not important enough to talk about started your pattern of destructive self-care. Years later and countless visits with Mr. Mind you stopped going and taking your medication while letting your one passion and non-medical aid, writing, fall by the wayside.

“I’m stronger. I’m fine. It’s about time I learn to live on my own without this crutch.”

One bottle of pills down the drain and four years of college later here you are. You can’t remember the last time you wrote something other than for a grade. Just because you felt the urge. Has it been four years? Or was it when Mom died? Frankly, everything kind of just blends together.

“What started it?” Castiel snaps you out of your reflection.

“I’m probably just overreacting. It’s nothing that everyone else doesn’t go through.”

Castiel ruefully chuckles and points out the obvious. “Bills, work, any of that would make anyone stressed. Plus, someone like you, must feel it twice as much.”

You pull away slightly and stare into Castiel’s regret clouded eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You can barely go two minutes without checking to see if you have a new email for jobs. Even when you’ve triple checked the bank account to make sure we’re above water you still insist on making sure ‘one last time’ that no sudden charges have been made or that you missed a payment for something. You like order and structure. Any tiny deviation or unknown drives you crazy.” Castiel’s words as said with only love and admiration but they strike a much deeper chord for you.

“Really? I never noticed..” And that’s true. Mr. Mind always used to remind you in sessions to be careful around obsessing but it would always slip your mind not even two hours later.

By now the tears are done but your body is still feeling the effects of such a violent release. Every muscle feels like soft rubber. Castiel supports you as you leave the bathroom with a much calmer Maxson trailing behind you. Castiel guides you to the couch before rifling through his phone. Moments later he texts you a phone number.

“Call them. Make an appointment for as soon as possible.”

“Castiel. We can’t.”

Castiel smiles. “Maybe not but we’ll manage it. But I need my Y/N feeling alright first before I start worrying about money.” Castiel gives you one more quick peck and whispers, “You’re more important.”

He leaves without a second glance and turns on the stove. Castiel starts preparing everything needed to make your favorite comfort foods. He plans to make you a feast even if it means you can barely walks afterwards because your stomach’s so full.

You look back down at the number and call. By the second ring you consider hanging up and forgetting the whole thing. Someone picks up.

“Hello, Mind Castle Physiatry, Olivia speaking. How may I help you?”

“H-Hi, I’m Y/N L/N and I’d like to make an appointment?” You cringe at how meek you sound.

“New patient, correct?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”


End file.
